Power
by double-nn
Summary: The Elite. The wealthiest, the most beautiful, and the most powerful. You've heard of Elizabeth. Diana. Penelope. Carolina. But have you heard of Adelaide? Clementine? Isabeau? Charlotte? The same time, the same place, but different people.


**I wish this was original but... I got SOME of my ideas and Characters from the Luxe series - They are AMAZING **

**SO I DO NOT "own" anything except for some of my characters.**

**It is my first fan fiction, so go easy on me. But I'd appreciate critique! **

**Anyways, in case you haven't figured it out, NONE of the Luxe character will appear in my story. (so-rry!) This is in the late eighteen hundreds. **

**I just decided to give this a try...so **

**yeah :) - hope you enjoy! **

**Elite**

**Prologue **

IT ALL BEGAN WITH A WEDDING. Lavish, gorgeous, impeccably elegant and of major importance. After all, if it was not one of such importance, why would it all start then?

The bride, wearing a lush, silky, white gown, walked down the alter. She was perfection in every way: her rosy-cheeked, marble smooth skin, her warm brown eyes, twinkling with delight, her soft red-as-roses hair, cascading in waves reaching her back. But what drew most eyes were her radiant smile, the one where she was yet to learn what tended to happen in the compelling upper class of New York. She was new to this pampered crowd. That was indeed, very, very, obvious.

The groom, waiting at the end. He was a man of dignity, you could tell by the way his head was held high, the way his eyes were hard but still loving. He was the one with the power, the wealth. He was the one already tangled in the web of society, ready to mix his new bride to the deadly games. The man stood handsomely so, even though he could be no younger than at least forty years. Some of his fine, fair, hair was streaked with the signs of old age. Still, he was one to stand up to it, although he knew that soon the fight would be over.

Their eyes held each other.

One brown, one dark blue.

The women held her gaze full of pure love, adoration, and bliss.

The man was one of pride as he looked at his beautiful wife.

The crowd looked on, nodding with pleasure, useless critique – for this was truly perfect, and most admiration. They were all wide-eyed, absorbing this event as if it was possibly the last thing on earth.

But, four pairs of eyes stood out from the others.

Two of them, walking down the isle, two bridesmaids for the extravagant event.

You could just as easily tell them apart from their eyes. One of them was like the bride, wide-eyed, rosy cheeked, astounded and impressed with the happenings. The other, most like the groom. She eyed the bride and other bridesmaid with obvious distaste, her eyes full of scorn. Her normally delicate features were screwed in a tight scowl, but she was beautiful all the same. Her posture was one lacking of attention – she looked almost bored. Careless. Like she'd been through this before.

The other two pairs of eyes were seated in the crowd.

In very different places.

One sat at the honorary spot at the front, her eyes distant, guarded, but respectful. And although she looked on the assembly with interest, there was something off about that polite look she had in her eyes.

The other sat in the very back, furthest row. Most seated there would have been miffed that they didn't get the better spot, but this girl was no longer paying attention. She stopped paying much attention to anything days ago. Her eyes were blank as she looked at the bride and groom, like she was seeing elsewhere than what was really happening. Her eyes were puffy and red, covered by a fragile, expensive fan. Occasionally, the girl would close her eyes, looking very pale.

All these gazes, however, fell to the odd couple as they closed in an embrace. Their lips meeting finally. The bride looked as if she didn't have a single other care in the world, and she glanced at her newly-named husband as if all would be right in the world.

This, of course, was a look that often didn't last very long, this _was _the Manhattan elite.

* * *

**1 ~ Clementine **

FIELDING. IT WAS WELL A WELL KNOWN NAME. It belonged to one of the wealthiest, most prestige, family lines of all New York. It was name passed down generations to generations, sometimes, but rarely, it was known for a mistake. Most of the time, it was known for its high place in society. This time, it was probably known for doing the unthinkable, the most embarrassing, the worst mistake of all. At least, in Clementine Fielding's view. Out of all the possible mistresses for candidates her father could of chose, he just _had _to choose a rural, country-living, hill-Billy. And as if the mistress wasn't bad enough, she had a daughter, _a daughter. _One even less civilized, hick-toothed, enthusiastic, try-hard daughter. And she was even Clementine's age.

This was a joke.

Sometimes, Clementine would expect to wake up all of sudden, from this _awful nightmare. _

But, as per say, that was not going to happen any time soon.

At least the stupid wedding was over.

Still, the hilly-Billy's daughter was following her around like a lost puppy. Clementine knew what this meant, but there was simply no way she was going to introduce her new _step_sister to her snobbier-than-life friends.

She raised a elegant, white-gloved, hand for a toast, at least the fifth one that evening.

Her father, Henry Fielding, appeared at her side, promptly with his new _wife _in tow. Clementine sneered at the word itself.

She hoped this relationship wouldn't last long. Hopefully, like Henry's last two wife's, she'd be gone before the month ended. For Clementine, a wedding was a simple procedure. It was sometimes repeated if not done right, but still a procedure in the end. It was the way she'd come to think after watching her heart-breaking father wed more than seven times since her deceased mother. Which she still believed was his only true love.

"Clary, why don't you introduce Charlotte to some of the fine gentlemen here? She's still feeling a tad shy, and hasn't worked up the courage to dance. Why don't you go encourage her a bit?"

Clementine shot a glare at her father. She was so confused. Her father had never called her Clary since her real mother died.

Henry Fielding took her hesitation as an answer.

"Dear Charlotte is near the Percy's, you really should get to know her more, you will be living under the same roof from now on."

Henry Fielding was all smiles. Something that Clary had forgotten he could do. She glared at his now-soft dark blue eyes. Not even making a effort to hide her disdain.

Henry glared back, except with even more venom, and a look that translated into "do-this-or-die."

Ah. There was the father she knew.

Clary made an exaggerated sigh. Then she stood up, giving her father and his new wife (Lydia), a sickly sweet smile.

"Of course, daddy Dearest. Whatever pleases you." Clary took off abruptly, not even excusing her self from her table. Her soft-silk, silver gown flouncing and trailing behind her.

Clary stopped at the Percy table, which seated her best friend, Adelaide. She went through the kisses on the cheek and the congratulations.

Dee gave her a subtle smile, and a little wave. God, she was so polite and _prissy _at social events. Always following society rules. Not even a foot out of place.

Well, fine. Two could play that game.

Clary used her fake-innocent voice.

"Please excuse me for interrupting your conversation, but I was just wondering whether or not you've seen my sister, Charlotte?" She questioned, playing her role well.

Mrs. Percy smiled at her, one of her cold, meaningless smiles.

"She was talking to Kit Adams, you might find her with him."

Clary faked relief.

"Oh thank you _so _much! I was looking for her _everywhere!" _She gave the Percy's a respectful good-bye, only catching Adelaide's quizzical glance as she sauntered off.

She adored Adelaide, they were best friends since primary school, where they had received the same Dance instructor by mistake. But sometimes, Dee's open acceptance to play by the rules made her scorching mad. Rules were meant to be broken, not respected.

Clary caught the sight of Kit's pale, white blond hair in the crowd, making conversation with her red-head stepsister.

She stepped toward them. She was doing Kit a favor, no one would purposely go up and strike up a conversation with _Charlotte._

"Good evening, Mister Adams, I see you've found my sister." She flashed him a slow and deliberate grin. All guys were taken by her alluring charm and impossible beauty.

Kit laughed. He knew what she was doing, he knew her all too well. Clary had known Kit since they were practically infants, their families were as tight as her corset.

"Good evening indeed, Miss Fielding, say, are you enjoying yourself?" He raised an eyebrow dramatically, Charlotte forgotten.

"Why yes, I'm absolutely splendid. Same for you? I dare say?" She grinned. Kit could make her laugh no matter what.

"Positive. Miss Charlotte here has told me the most interesting stories." Clary's smile quickly disappeared from her face. So he did remember Charlotte. Huh. Maybe he was just being a gentlemen?

Charlotte's high, almost squeaky voice decided to jump in.

"Clara! How y'all doing? Im having a gr-eight time with Mister Adams here!"

Clary gritted her teeth. She hated it when people she hardly even knew made up nicknames for her.

"It's Clementine. Call me Clementine. Not Clara." Her voice was strained to cover up her irritation.

"Or Miss Fielding." Kit's grin grew. He obviously didn't catch what was happening with the two sisters.

At least Charlotte did.

"Oh, oh. Im sorry, Clementine." Charlotte was shocked by the hostility in her new sister's voice. Weren't they family now?

Kit rolled his gorgeous pale blue eyes. And Charlotte focused her attention on him immediately, watching closely to his every move. Of course. Why didn't she already think of that?

Kit _was _one of the most handsome, good-looking, wealthy, suitors in the New York high-life society, with his ear-length, sexy-messy, white blonde hair and electric blue eyes.

Perfect. She was sure Kit already had enough of Charlotte already.

"Come on, stop being so formal and join in the dancing." Kit urged.

Clary smirked, and waited for Kit to offer his hand to her. She would love to see the look on Charlotte's face as she was ditched.

Instead, Kit offered his hand to Charlotte who giggled and took it.

Clary's jaw dropped.

_Wait, what?_

Kit must of seen Clary's confused expression.

"Sorry!" He mouthed, walking away with Charlotte. "I promised to dance with her before you came."

Clary shook her head in disbelief. It wasn't like she couldn't get another dance partner. There was probably a bunch of other handsome guys who were more than willing to dance with her.

But, it was the fact that Kit had promised her the first dance, exactly two weeks ago when she ranted out her anger to him.

He'd probably just forgotten. After all, two weeks _was _quiet long, and Kit didn't have the best memory. He would never choose Charlotte, who he'd just met, over Clary, who was obviously the better choice…right?

**Obviously, I don't know much about the nineteenth century, so some things may be off (Point them out to me!) and I apologize if its not exactly in "olden-day speak". But I tried my best...so review! ;) **


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